Night Terrors
by laurenlizabeth
Summary: (Grimmons fic gone a little angsty.) It's no wonder Grif would be having night terrors after the horrors the red team have faced, however he didn't expect to find solace or romance from his fellow soldier Simmons. Their relationship grows until one of them faces an accident and the other must prevail in patience and re-win his lover's heart. (Slight PTSD mentions)
1. Chapter 1

The first time it happened to him, Dexter Grif woke up in a total panic. The growling resembling a chainsaw ringing in his ears, his body covered in a cold sweat and shivering, fear reaching all the way to his toes. The screams that came from him didn't even register in his brain until the rest of red team was standing by his bed in variations of annoyance and concern. Grif didn't know what was worse, the embarrassment at the night terror or the actual worry Sarge had for him in his "Son, are you alright?" With an agitated shift of his mass Grif grunted and lay with his eyes closed until everyone retired to their beds. After a few minutes a strained voice called across the room "Grif, are you okay?"

"Shut the fuck up and go to sleep Simmons."

Two weeks after the initial incident, the worry for their teammate subsided to pure frustration at loss of sleep. After brushing, flossing, and inspecting for food particles, Simmons entered his shared bunk to find Grif worrying the back of his neck.

"I can't sleep."

"You haven't even laid down yet, how would you know?"

"No, idiot. I can't GO to sleep. I'm… afraid. But if you fucking tell any of them, especially Doc, I will murder you Simmons. I'm not a basket case to be analysed..."

"Right, you're just afraid of sleeping."

"I'm not making a joke, Dick." Simmons knew by the defeated tone that Grif really was searching for help.

"Is it dreams? Like do you remember what you're dreaming when you wake up, or do you just… wake up afraid?"

"Both. Sometimes I relive the memory entirely and other times I wake myself up screaming and sweating."

"The sweat is normal man. You really need to lose some weight."

"Fuck off, it's different. And better than you, I can fucking break you by sitting on you."

"Because you're that fat!" Grif cracked a smile, for the first time in a long time. Simmons gave a soft laugh and sized up his partner. "I'll watch over you tonight, maybe you'll feel more safe. We can at least try it. I'll sit by your bed and just tap into the cyborg pieces and just charge up."

"You want me to plug you in?"

"Shut up and go to sleep before I change my mind and just make you sleep outside." Grif grumbled but obliged, lifting the covers and getting comfortable. Simmons pulled a chair over and sat vigilantly at the bedside of his best friend.

"Hey Simmons, thanks man." Grif said before closing his eyes.

It took Grif an hour to fall asleep and within the next one he woke up and let out a single yelp before Simmons took action. He placed his metal hand on Grif's sweat soaked chest. Both of Grif's hands clasped on and his breathing began to normalize.

"I'm here, you're safe. I promise."

Eventually, Simmons needed to sleep too. Wary of the night to come, Simmons crawled into his own bed across the small room. Grif had stopped screaming, but the night terrors still came every night and he would wake to clutch Simmons' hand and relax to his comforting words. But now was the real test, could the soldier make it through the night with only his nightmares?

A sound closer to a chainsaw than a voice chased after him and Grif watched the crimson blood trickle through the once white snow. He was hiding from the Meta, his labored breathing leading the massive ex-agent straight towards him. "Hrrgggehhggg…" If his heart beat were any louder it could have woken the dead. The curved knife snuck from above the rock Grif was hiding behind and into his helmet, bringing him straight to consciousness in the dark bunk.

With several fast and deep intakes of breath, Grif sat straight up, "Simmons, Simmons." He almost cried, his hand groping into the darkness for his friend who was not beside him. Faster than he had probably moved in years, Grif was beside Simmons bed, nudging the soldier over so he could join him inside it.

His breathing was frantic and his eyes stung but the moment one scrawny arm reached around the large Hawaiian man's chest he felt the panic begin to subside. "I'm right here you big coward. Afraid of your fucking dreams, getting in my bed. Who's the loser now, loser."

"Still you." Grif said on the output breath in his panic. The metal arm reached under Grif's neck and the calculated fingers began to brush through his long knotted hair, each stroke calming Grif down more.

This carried on for weeks until Grif just started going to bed with Simmons in the first place. One night they lay there, discussing their teammates.

"You know, I have to wonder if Donut MEANS for things to come out the way they do or if he honestly doesn't mean to say the gayest things I've ever heard." Grif raised his hands in defeat and turned to Simmons for his input. The look of consternation on his face had Grif laughing. "You look like you either haven't shit in a month or you just shit yourself. And I'm hoping it's the first one because otherwise I'm getting the fuck out of our bed."

"Grif… I…ugh… Grif I think I need to tell… I-"

"Hey Simmons, shut the fuck up, I know." Grif pressed his bloated hand over his eyes, groaning internally; he wasn't sure Simmons was ready for his own revelation.

"You know what? I don't think you do."

"I know you're gay as dicks for me."

"I am not- There is no way I'd- I could do a lot better than- I- Yeah. Yeah I fucking am. I'm fucking gay for you, you fat ass." Simmons lowered his eyes to meet Grif's, expecting him to leave the bed, the room, maybe even this squad.

"Same, kiss ass." Grif strained his neck forward to place one rough kiss on Simmons' lips.

The night terrors began to subside, but Grif still stayed in Simmons bed, holding onto his boyfriend while he slept. Simmons had the habit of curling up as tightly as possible and fit himself into Grif's sprawl, burying his head in his chest. However, the two reversed roles when the night terrors returned; Simmons holding Grif and whispering to the shaking terrified man. It wasn't an ideal start of a relationship, but it was theirs and they wouldn't change it for anything.

The other men didn't need to be told that the two were together. It was obvious in the disappearances. No one would have blinked twice about Grif going missing, but when Simmons started making off the wall excuses coinciding with Grif's "naps", even Sarge started putting two and two together. It wasn't shame that kept the two quiet, there just wasn't a need to "come out". However, Simmons worried that keeping it quiet would be synonymous with lying to their superior so, leaning up on his pillow one night, asked Grif how they should tell the team.

"Well, Simmons. We ought to just have raging sex in the mess hall when they're trying to eat. Then everyone will know."

"Grif!"

"Hey maybe it'll get you off. Public sex could get that motor running." Simmons rolled over, crossing his arms.

"I don't have a fucking motor, asshole. It's a circuit system that hooks up all my cybernetic org-"

"It gets _my_ motor running when you talk nerdy." Grif sloppily kissed the pale, freckled skin on the back of Simmons' neck.

"Go to sleep, and if you really need to clutch onto me at some point, try not to grab the cyborg one? You sweat like a pig and you're going to short circuit me." Simmons swatted at his horny bedmate.

"I'm going to clutch something alright." The two delved into kissing and groping and the night terrors didn't dare come between them.

The next morning paranoid fear set Sarge to send his men to spy on the blues, who were currently in truce with the reds.

"This is fucking stupid. The blues never do anything, they're just doing the same shit we're doing. Except they probably don't have to spy on us because their leader isn't a fucking dumbass." Grif exhaled.

"G-g-grif, you don't have to agree with him but you really should respec-pec-pect Sarge."

"Woah, what's wrong with you Simmons?" Donut questioned his fellow soldier.

"Nothing. What the f-f-f-fuck's wrong with you D-d-d-donut?!" Simmons paused.

"Did you just hear yourself, Simmons?"

"Yeah I, I did. I don't know-ow-ow-ow-ow-"

"I love that song!" Donut began to hum along to the supposed song.

"Shut up Donut! Are you alright, Dick?" Grif whispered the latter while Simmons kept his repetition going.

"-ow what's wrong? Maybe my circuitry-try-try-try-try-try is m-messing up." Simmons cautioned.

"WOAH!" Simmons arm smacked out wildly, barely missing Grif. "I p-p-p-promise that wasn't on- woah!- purpose!" The arm jerked upward, free of Simmons control.

"Maybe we should go back to Sarge, he's like a robot expert. He can get you fixed." Donut suggested.

"Y-yeah, I'll go back. B-b-b-b-b-b-but you two stay-ay-ay-ay here. Sarge'll lose it if he th-th-th-thinks we're disobeying order-der-ders."

"Yeah yeah, just go figure it out." Grif grabbed Simmons shoulder, holding on long enough to convey his concern and the best way he could say I love you, get better.

After a pop over to blue base to sit around and joke with Tucker and let Donut talk to Caboose, the men made their way back to red base.

"Hey Sarge, we're back, did you miss us?" Donut called as they entered. Grif wasted no time by reporting back to his leader and instead searched for Simmons. He entered the barracks hall and turned into his and Simmons room to see the man facing the bed in only his boxers. Grif grinned and stepped towards him.

He wrapped one arm around his torso, "Waiting for me?"

In a movement so unlike the bumbling ginger soldier, Simmons slammed Grif into the wall, his metal arm pressed against his neck. Grif kicked feebly at Simmons, begging to be let down. Simmons pulled his arm back but stayed in his threatening position.

"Listen, I know I normally like it rough, but that's taking it way too far. Seriously, what the fuck Simmons." Grif rubbed his neck where Simmons arm had just been, coughing slightly.

Simmons said nothing, he continued to stare down the fat Hawaiian man. "Who are you?" Grif looked back, bemused and slightly annoyed. "I asked, who the fuck are you."

"What are you even getting at, Dick, this isn't funny, knock it off."

" _Who are you?"_ Grif's eyes widened. He wasn't kidding. Grif pushed his way out of the room and stormed deeper into the base.

"SARGE! YOU FACTORY RESET MY BOYFRIEND!"


	2. Chapter 2

( **A/N If you've read pre-update [August 6, 2015] the update was a combination of the previous chapters 2 and 3 to be one chapter. Upon rereading it just made more sense. Nothing plot relevant changed, only some transitions so the story flowed sensibly. Thank you for reading, I'm glad everyone is enjoying this!)**

"Hmm? What was that dirtbag?" Sarge turned from the tune-ups he was making on Lopez to address Grif.

"You! You broke Simmons." Grif burst into the room.

"Esto se está poniendo raro. Me voy ahora." Lopez turned and left.

"No, I fixed him. He's not jerkin' and jabbin' anymore is he? Or stu-stu-stuttering?"

"No, but he just choked the shit out of me."

"See, I told you I fixed him."

"Sarge, he just tried to kill me, how are we supposed to live together?"

"Just introduce yourself, get to know the new Simmons. Simmons 2.0. Wait… the robot Simmons is Simmons 2.0. Simmons 3.0, the best, since he kills Grif without being told!" Sarge let out a hardy laugh then departed to find Lopez and finish his work.

 _Just introduce yourself, remind him who you are. It couldn't be too hard, right?_ Thought Grif.

Simmons was finishing dressing himself when Grif entered the room. Grif removed his helmet and coughed to get Simmons attention.

"Hey, I'm sorry about earlier. We have a… special relationship, I didn't know you had lost all your memories of it. I'm Dexter Grif." He offered his hand cautiously.

"Dick Simmons. I… I'm sorry for earlier too. I mean, don't fucking touch me like that again, but sorry for the wall thing and the neck thing." Simmons took it and gave a brisk shake.

"Hey, I liked the hustle, and it was kind of hot if I half suspected it was coming. You'll have to remember that… never mind." Grif watched Simmons face contort to confusion until he finally just gave up on the whole idea. "Let's get dinner than. I can introduce you to Donut, and I swear, if you fucking like him, I'm putting you back to broken, jabby, and repetitive."

After a meal filled with rehashing memories of blood gulch and everything else with the rest of the team, they all headed off to bed. All but Simmons and Grif who stayed up late into the night, Grif telling story after story about Basic and the secret shenanigans Sarge could never know.

"We really stole a UNSC pelican?" Simmons felt a mix of awe and distrust for his new acquaintance and his old self.

"Yeah we fucking did! It was awesome!" Grif leaned back, smiling wide. "Man, we got into some crazy shit. I can't wait until you're up to par so we can go back to that."

Simmons frowned, "Grif, I'm not sure I want to. I've never felt better. I want to make an actual change in this war, I can't do that if I'm slobbing around with the laziest soldier in red army history."

"Don't hold back."

"Well… It's true. I don't know how you haven't been hanged for insubordination or sent home on dishonorable discharge."

"I'm not lucky enough." Grif paused, it wasn't true. He was lucky enough to be drafted into this squad to meet this man and fall in love. "Hey, let's head off to bed, Sarge'll want us up early for some stupid reason I'm sure." The duo made their way back to their room.

Grif watched Simmons undress and couldn't stop smiling. Teaching Simmons those memories made Grif realize how long he had loved the uptight kiss ass, way before the night terrors and their source. Simmons went to the bathroom and Grif crawled into bed and closed his eyes.

"Ugh, Grif? I know we enjoyed our talk, but can you get out of my bed?"

"Oh, ugh… Well this _is_ my bed. I haven't slept in that bed in maybe a year." Simmons stood confused.

"Why is my stuff over your bed and yours over mine then?"

"You know how I said we had a special relationship… and I groped you when I walked in? Yeah we're kind of _together_ Simmons."

"Funny, Grif. I'm not gay. And if I were it wouldn't be for you. Sorry, man, but you're… how do I put this nicely… disgustingly lazy, messy, and just… gross."

"Yeah, but that's what you love about me! I even out your uptight, ocd, bullshit."

"Grif, just get in your bed, I don't want to deal with this tonight."

"Fine, but I'm not joking. You love me, and I'll figure out how to prove it to you."

The bed felt empty as he tossed and turned trying to avoid any thought of night terrors or the loneliness that he could feel slowly creeping into his future. Just as slowly, with no notable beginning, Grif fell into his worst nightmares.

Blood ran through the snow. The soldier grasped at his body; not his blood. He followed the trail, gasping, fearing. Donut's body hit the ground in front of him, screaming.

"Aw Fuck, man, Donut?!" He shook him but the blood that came was too heavy, there was no saving him. Grif carried on, following the original blood trail.

"Grif, Grif… don't go…" Donut's calls followed him in a decrescendo as his life force gave out.

There… maroon armor leaking vital red. A body slumped as it failed in trying to get away. There was his only care in the world.

"Dexter help… I think I'm hurt. I-I think I'm… Dexter, fix me." His voice fell and rose in soft waves that knocked Grif down like a hurricane.

Grif's eyes poured regret and fear, his labored breathing fogging his view. With jarring movements he ripped his own helmet off. His hair fell around his face, his hands shook as they sought out the wounds on the body that was more familiar than his own.

"Fuck… Fuck… Oh fuck, Dick… There's so much. God DAMN. Dick I can't fix it, there's too much. There's too much. Dick fuck FUCK." His shaking hands grabbed onto Simmons helmet, taking it off with such care, one hand ready to cradle his head once it was free. "Dick stop it, you can't do this, STOP IT." The red light of his one eye slowly faded out as the other eye, searched Grif's for any hope. Not finding it, Simmons eye flashed fear, and then in only a moment it went blank, the fear frozen in a glassy stare. "DICK! FUCK, MAN. DON'T. DON'T LEAVE ME."

Sitting straight up in his bed, Grif's voice called into the darkness. His body covered in sweat and his face dripping with tears. "…don't…don't" He sobbed holding onto himself.

There was nothing to forewarn him to the fist that came at him grabbing him by his thick neck and slamming him onto the floor of the barracks. "What the fuck Grif! It's one thing to wake me up touching yourself but you have to be saying my name? My NAME Grif?!"

Grif let out a sob. From one nightmare into another. "Dick…" He whined rocking back and forth. "I'm not… I wasn't….Please. It was a dream-"

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

"Everyone was dying, Simmons, I watched you die…" Grif looked up slowly, afraid of meeting his eyes. What he found was apathy. "Just… go to bed Dick. I'm sorry. It'll be fine."

The fear passed in about an hour and Grif crawled into his bed. Lying awake, Grif swore he would get Simmons back as soon as he could. The lack of compassion in the eyes that used to love and care for him haunted his waking horrors.

The following morning Grif dragged Simmons to each loving landmark of their adventure to a relationship. From the time Grif decided to declare his love for Simmons "gorgeous metal ass" over every corner of red base after having one too many beers with Tucker, to the time the two had made a rendezvous in the warthog and Grif said that the sex had been so good he had to declare it in history… scratched into the side of the warthog. He even trumped the grumpy ginger soldier to blue base to hear Tucker's testimony. "yeah, you two are definitely gay. Gay together. Fucking often. I know because Grif comes over and tells me about the sex in really deep detail. Like excruciating detail. Like dents in metal asses detail."

The only thing this tour accomplished was pushing Simmons farther away. For the following two days, Grif could only catch quick glimpses of maroon as the soldier took extensive measures to stay far far away.

There in the mess hall early one morning, the team, minus Simmons, gathered for breakfast.

"Well, Private Grif, I didn't think it was possible but you look worse than normal." Sarge's comment smacked Grif and his eyes shot up.

"Yeah I didn't fucking sleep." He snapped. Rubbing his eyes and adding to himself, "I haven't fucking slept in three days."

"You need Momma to put you to bed, Private? You want me to get your teddy bear or your blankey?" His laugh echoed emptily. Sarge stabbed at his breakfast, suddenly realizing Grif's empty plate. "Grif, where in sam hell is your food?"

"I'm not hungry." He muttered pushing himself away from the table.

"Aw come on, Grif. Of course you're hungry! You're always hungry, you're a gluttonous pit." Donut said cheerfully pulling him back into his chair.

"Ugh," Simmons entered the mess hall clearing his throat to announce his presence. Grif sat up, smiling, and then remembering slumped back down. "I need to tell you all something." Simmons avoided Grif's eyes. "I've contacted command and will be leaving red base this evening, I'm sorry for stepping over you Sarge but-"

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Grif felt his stomach churn.

"I've been cleared for a transfer, Private Grif. I'm leaving."


	3. Chapter 3

Grif laid his head down on the table in a drunken stupor.

"I just, I can't believe he's gone." He groaned. Tucker clapped him on the back, trying to form some sort of empathy for the heart broken red.

"He's not gone yet, you probably still have at least half an hour." Tucker judged, looking at the ship still parked at red base. Grif let out a loud sniff, Tucker braced himself for the sobs that would inevitably come. "I can't believe you're just going to let him go, man. Like, I hate you guys, but I at least know that he meant the world to you. You're gonna let him leave on that ship?"

"Yeah, I fucking am. You should have seen it. He looked at me like I was, I don't even know. You know what, he didn't even look at me. And that's worse. He doesn't care anymore, he's not Simmons. Not anymore." Grif grabbed at the empty cup next to him.

"You've already drank all of my hooch, Grif. I won't have any for a few weeks."

"Fine, whatever, I'll just," Grif belched loudly and moved to stand, "Leave you alone then." The drunk man fell backwards gracelessly. Tucker watched on, shaking his head.

"Let me walk you back to your base." He offered.

"No, fuck you. I-I…I've got it." Using the wall as a clutch he made his way out. The night hit him squarely. From across the lonely field, Grif watched the ship load the last of its things. He saw Sarge shaking hands with the captain and then the maroon armored soldier sauntered from the base to the plane. He shook hands with Sarge then boarded the ship as well.

"Fuck command, and fuck whatever bug fucked Simmons, and most of all FUCK YOU SIMMONS." Grif yelled at the top of his lungs, tears streaming down his face, "Fuck you, man. I fucking love you." He watched the ship take off before falling to his knees.

Simmons turned smartly, he had given his announcement to his crew and had no more obligations to them. He left the mess hall quickly, he couldn't bear to watch Grif fall to pieces. Simmons had tried to understand, but no matter what, he couldn't force himself to fall in love. This would be best, it was what was best for Grif. Or so Simmons told himself. This way he wouldn't torture the orange soldier with his presence when he just couldn't love him.

In his quarters, Simmons packed what little possessions he had, avoiding looking at Grif's things. As he sorted through the clothing, he kept coming across shirts far too large to be his mixed with his own things. Simmons wadded up the extra-large white tank top and threw it across the room angrily. He heard a cough from the doorway.

"I tried!" His voice broke and he found himself with a furious heat in his face. "I really fucking did, okay? I don't know why, but I can't love you. I believe you, I believe I loved you when I see all of this but I can't force it." When Grif didn't respond, Simmons finally looked up, ready to yell again. "Sarge." He stood immediately, trying to ignore what he had just professed.

"Private Simmons, I made a mistake." The old soldier sat heavily in the adjacent bed. "When I fixed your system, I put the robotics in charge. It superseded the human elements of your brain, but it can't wipe your memory; it's in their somewhere. I don't know how to get to it, but I know we need to." Losing the harshness that normally coated Sarge's voice, he carried on "If you don't want to, I can't force you, but you should know that this isn't you. You are a neurotic, spastic, mess and you saved Private Grif. If I lose you, I lose him. And that's too much, soldier." He sighed heavily.

Simmons was quiet. He picked up another overwhelmingly large t-shirt mixed in his things and gave it a long look. "Fix me, Sarge."

With his head aching, Grif kept his eyes tightly shut. There were hands on his head, he could feel someone straddling him, yelling. _Goddamnit, if it's Donut again,_ Grif's eyes flashed open to see a man in purple armor over him, Doc. Grif shoved him off, "I'm fine, I just fell. I'm drunk, what else is new?" Grif attempted to stand, but the effort proved too hard and he settled for sitting up. Something was wrong about Doc. The purple armor hung awkwardly loose and was incredibly short on this legs and arms. Patches of pale skin peeked out in the ill-fitting joints. Grif looked at the freckles on his ankles and felt a strange realization take over him.

Leaning forward towards the purple soldier, Grif looked deeply into his visor, trying to see the eyes. "Simmons?" He cautioned.

"Hey, Dexter." In awkward motions he pulled the helmet off and looked sheepishly at the ground, his red hair sticking up in cowlicks and his face getting heatedly red. "I'm back, Grif. And I'm so sorry for everything, I understand if you're pissed or you hate me or whatever, but I'm so sorry Grif, goddamnit I'm so sorry."

Grif sat stunned for a moment then reached forward to push the ginger man's face up towards him, "Are you really back?" When Simmons finally brought his eyes to meet Grif's, the fat man knew. "Fuck man, it is you. You are back." Grif pulled himself into Simmons, his head against his chest, taking deep sobs and inhaling more than he was exhaling.

"I missed you too, fatass." Simmons planted a kiss on Grif's head, finally feeling right with the world.

"But… how?" Grif looked up, teary eyed.

"Listen, I don't want to confuse you with all of the technical things, Private Grif, but it was very very technical." Sarge called from behind Grif, just out of view.

"We overturned the balances so my cybernetics were more human than robot. It wasn't that technical." And in a more quiet voice singularly for Grif, "Don't ever let Sarge inside of my brain again, are we clear."

Grif barked a laugh and nodded. "And what about Command?"

"The amount of convincing it takes to get Doc to do something if he thinks it'll make him more liked is honestly concerning." Simmons shifted the purple armor built for a man with more regular proportions than his gangly extended ones.

When the pair finally managed to make it back to their barrack, they lay awake in bed together. Simmons running his metal fingers through Grif's tangled thick hair while Grif couldn't stop staring up at the man he had so dearly missed. They didn't need to say it, the soft touches and contented silence was enough to confess their love. Grif drifted off far before Simmons, who stayed up to look at his man and protect him from the horrors that would haunt his mind. The nightmares didn't return that night, nor would it have mattered, because Grif could wake from the hell of his night terrors and fall back into the blissful dream of waking up beside his maroon soldier.


End file.
